


Meeting at the Chessboard

by ninemoons42, papercutperfect



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, First Time, Food, M/M, Powered AU, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42, https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect





	Meeting at the Chessboard

  


title: Meeting at the Chessboard  
authors:  
Charles Xavier played by [](http://papercutperfect.livejournal.com/profile)[**papercutperfect**](http://papercutperfect.livejournal.com/)  
Erik Lehnsherr played by [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: approx. 16,000  
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]  
characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr  
rating: NC-17  
notes: In August 2011 papercutperfect advertised on the Erik/Charles LJ comms for an RP partner; she was looking for an Erik to play opposite her Charles. She graciously took me on even if I didn't know the first thing about RP, and I guess the sheer volume of correspondence we've built up both in-character and out of it attests to how well we go together? I have not only gained a Charles to my Erik; I have also gained a wonderful and amazing friend.  
This is the story of how her Charles met my Erik; it's a modern-day AU, with powers; Charles is the owner of a restaurant called the Chessboard and the leader of its all-mutant staff, while Erik is an engineer working at Frost Industries.  
When [palalife](http://palalife.tumblr.com) put up [this](http://tmblr.co/ZIJNMxIvXLLL) piece of art and offered it as an informal prompt for a foodie/restaurant AU, papercutperfect and I decided to put this extract together. It is written in alternating POVs and two different forms of English to indicate the characters. We wish to emphasize that these are our own takes on the characters we're playing. Hope it suits.  
Cut text from Tears for Fears, "Head Over Heels", which papercutperfect suggested as one of the themes for our RP.

  
Today was going to be a good day, Charles hoped, as he turned the sign on the door around from _Closed_ to _Open_ , and resisted the urge to cross his fingers behind his back.

All he wanted was a good, successful day with no incorrect orders, no burnt food and, god forbid, no more explosions. Not another one, anyway; he was going to be paying for that cooker for the rest of his life. Alex had apologised until he was red in the face, and Charles hadn’t had the heart to fire him; he’d just put him on potato duty for the rest of the month.

Stepping back, Charles sighed in contentment as he gave the restaurant a final once-over. It was his pride and joy: a wide, spacious dining room with plenty of windows to let in the summer light. He’d tinkered with the decoration for months until he was truly happy - highly polished white and black tables, a tastefully chequered floor. Marble pillars in the corners, with plenty of exotic plants to add splashes of colour. The Chessboard was becoming quite the success.

But was the success due to the décor, or to the fact that Charles had an uncanny ability to be able to give the diners exactly what they wanted...? He smiled to himself. He didn’t like to invade people’s minds without permission, but at least they got what they paid for. In most cases anyway...when he cooked it and didn’t leave it to the waitstaff.

Sliding behind the bar, Charles prodded his younger sister Raven in the arm as a warning to put her mobile phone away (it didn’t set a good example if she was too busy texting to answer customers) and set to work wiping down glasses, ready for the day ahead.

///

Across the city, Erik growled and manfully resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk. Why Emma saw fit to stick him with the job of working on these papers, he still had no idea. They weren’t even _interesting_ \- just a lot of half-assed design sketches and proposals. It had been difficult to make heads or tails of the details, and even more so to actually look at the schematics.

“Janos,” he’d asked when the younger man brought him his last coffee of the day, “do these make any sense to you?”

Janos had looked down at the crumpled page - then turned it around, flipped it over to the other side, before throwing it back onto the desk. “Why are you asking me to read things like these – this isn’t my specialty, Erik.”

“You and Azazel had the same reaction. I give up. Emma can go through these herself in the morning.” Erik got up and stretched, painfully aware of his hurting hands and feet, and went to get his coat. “Dinner. I need dinner and I need a glass of wine and I need to get away from those imbeciles.”

“Sympathies, _patron_ ,” Janos said, and Erik watched with no small amount of vindictive amusement as the other man called up a tiny whirlwind to sweep all the papers into a more or less orderly heap.

“Thank you. I will just have someone else deal with that in the morning.”

“If you’re looking for a place to eat,” Azazel said, appearing in his usual cloud of smoke at the door, “there’s this place we just found. Good food. The Chessboard.”

“We think at least one of the people in whites is a mutant,” Janos said. “Every single thing we’ve ordered has been exactly what we wanted, down to getting Azazel’s allergies right without even having a chance to explain to the waiters.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s overly popular or overly whimsical, or you’re both fired,” Erik said.

“You’ll just have to go yourself,” Azazel laughed. “Shoo.”

Of course, it was raining when he finally managed to make it down to street level. Irritably, Erik jammed his hat down over his ears, pulled his coat close, and started walking.

///

Well, perhaps the day hadn’t gone as well as Charles had envisioned. But then again, he was a telepath, not a fortune-teller.

The sunny morning had fallen into a miserable, dreary afternoon, thick black clouds hanging overhead before pouring a chill rain upon his poor customers’ heads. It was still warm, but the heat mixed badly with the wet, steaming up the windows and leaving a clammy haze in the air. Angel complained loudly that her hair was starting to frizz; could she be sent home? Charles squeezed the bridge of his nose in despair - whose idea had it been to hire a bunch of teens again?

The gloomy weather wasn’t the end of it, however. Sean burned his hand on a hot pan, the resulting scream shattering the glasses hanging above the bar. Both Charles and Raven dodged the hail of shards, and thankfully no one was beheaded. Sean was promptly sent home to nurse his hand and to get out of Charles’s hair (much to Angel’s disgust).

At least all the food had been well received, even the dishes Alex had prepared. Charles’s head chef, Hank, was as wonderful in a kitchen as he was in a science lab (“cooking _is_ basically edible chemistry”), and with a little help from Charles’s mental probing, no customers left without scraping their plates clean first.

Now the evening was beginning to settle in, the afternoon rush finished. Charles flicked on the lights and the room was filled with a soft glow, reflecting beautifully off the marble-topped tables.

He was wiping the bartop when the door opened, rain drifting in with the newcomer over the threshold. A glance at the man who came in, and he was almost instantly hit with the thought of a good glass of strong red wine. Smile curling his lips, Charles pulled the perfect bottle from under the bar, pouring generously and sliding it across. “Good evening, my friend. Table for one?”

///

The wine went down beautifully, warmth blooming under his skin, and for a long moment Erik entertained the hope that he might actually be able to get warm again, that he might actually feel _dry_. God, but he hated the rain so much - too many memories, shadows sliding down cracked window panes, a gasp for breath.

He blocked those scenes out - he’d had too much practice at it - and ordered himself, silently, to relax. The wine helped, and with each swallow he could feel the long hours slumped over his desk sloughing away.

As he drank, he watched the - bartender? Not if the scars and blisters and burn marks up and down his bared arms had anything to say about it. Possibly one of the kitchen staff, then, seconded to clean out here for some reason. The crisp, immaculate shirt did seem to give him an air of quiet competence. No name over the pocket, though.

He knew he looked strange - rueful, perhaps a little crazed - when he held out his glass again. “Yes, I’d like a table - but I don’t suppose I could have another drink first.”

///

Charles caught a brief glimpse of deep shadows behind windows covered in serpentine cracks, before the man closed his mind with practiced ease.

He felt a shiver roll down his spine at the sinister memory - he hadn’t understood any of the powerful images, but the pain and fear they invoked was almost suffocating. The rain suddenly seemed a whole lot colder, rattling the window frames as the wind picked up. What on earth had this man been through?

Trying to put a cheerful smile back onto his face as the man asked for another glass of wine, Charles poured again. The liquid shone a deep ruby red in the soft lighting, and Charles found himself intrigued by the look on the stranger’s face.

“Why don’t I just leave the bottle with you,” Charles laughed pleasantly, setting the bottle on the bartop, “you look like you’ve had a rough day.” He itched to probe further, but decided against it for now - listening to food orders was one thing, but private memories were pushing it.

“My name’s Charles Xavier, I’m the owner,” Charles thought about offering his hand in greeting, but something about the way the man curled in on himself stopped him, “If you’d rather, you can stay here for your meal? I’m not promising I won’t talk your ear off though.”

///

“Thank you,” Erik said. “This is outstanding wine.”

Owner? This man was the owner? There was a hell of a disconnect there somewhere, Erik thought, enough that it jangled along his nerves. Too young, too kind, he thought, incongruously, and it was taking all of his self-control to keep his curiosity under wraps. Strange things happened around him when he was absorbed in a subject, and that was why most of the fixtures in his office were made out of wood and plastic.

He’d been known to tie knives in knots, to flatten out things made out of sheet metal and aluminum and then re-fold them into intricate shapes. Funny, after a while, and interesting, if he found new forms - they were useful, in their own ways. It was good to have a mutation that could help him build things and break them down - but of course he had to work only within his own spaces.

He blinked, shook away the thoughts of work, and sniffed appreciatively at his glass. Now that he’d calmed his nerves a little it was possible to enjoy the wine - and it was exactly the type he liked: a big, brawny red, its nose full of plum and oak and a faint hint of orange flowers.

Spotting a menu down the bar, he reached out for it, looking carefully at the selections. “What do you do best?”

///

The man’s thoughts brushed like delicate wings against Charles’ mind, and he couldn’t stop the slight flush that he could feel rising on his cheeks. He really didn’t come across as the owner? Too young and... kind?

He shouldn’t be so surprised really - he did tend to treat the restaurant as though it were a home, leaning against the bar and welcoming customers like he was waving them into a sitting room.

Charles attempted to straighten his spine, look a little more important, but even he knew it wouldn’t work. He had the kind of boyish face just slightly on the wrong side of authority, with wide blue eyes and snowy pale skin. This man was the complete opposite, taller than Charles by a good foot; all hard, strong lines and powerful limbs. His eyes were decidedly beautiful, blue and green mixed with grey, reminding him of the sea in winter when the light reflected off its glassy surface. Hidden depths, one might say.

Realising he may have been staring slightly, Charles let another wide smile touch his lips as the man - /Erik?/ - thumbed through the menu.

“Well, I can give you the easy answer and say that everything is particularly delicious,” he lifted a hand with the pretence of brushing a strand of floppy brown hair from his face, instead pressing lightly into the curls of Erik’s mind, “but I think you might find our Jewish selections more to your interests.”

///

Jewish? Erik didn’t know whether to be offended or to be amused - but the completely earnest expression on the other man’s face won him over, and Erik laughed instead, brief and sharp. “If I were truly worried about keeping kosher, I would have refused your wine,” he said, mock-sternly, and punctuated it by taking another long draught of the excellent red. “Since I’ve no idea how you came to produce it.”

That made the man across the bar laugh, and he gave him a lopsided smirk in return.

Strange how this man seemed to call up such emotions in him - he didn’t feel like being rude; he didn’t feel like being cold. Maybe this man was the owner after all. It probably went with that face, that easy smile. Lines in his face that seemed to come from joy instead of from grief. Blue eyes, bluer than a summer sky.

Erik blinked and then looked back down at the menu. Had he been staring? Just his rotten luck, he thought, and hoped he hadn’t been caught.

Matzah ball soup, fish quenelles, roast chicken - all things he’d loved, things that triggered good memories. His mother, smiling and patiently showing him how to knead challah. It still made him smile; it was still enough to banish the memory of her grey hairs, her pale and withered limbs, as the cancer had torn her away from him.

And then his eyes lit on a particular dish on the menu and he looked up, and it took him an effort to hold on to his poker face. “Fish and chips?”

///

A sharp wave of panic caused Charles’s blood to run colder than the falling rain at the mix of conflicting emotions Erik gave off. He hadn’t meant to cause offence with his suggestion - the brightest memories he’d probed had simply been times when Erik had been blissfully happy, wrapped in the innocence of youth and the arms of his mother. Those suggestions usually worked.

It came as no small relief when Erik smiled and tipped back his wine, and Charles exhaled with a laugh of his own, dragging a hand through his hair.

So curious... It was the first time Charles had ever been wrong when choosing a dish for a customer. But instead of denting his pride or causing him to slink away in shame, it only piqued the telepath’s interest further - here was a mind he could get lost in.

At the mention of fish and chips, Charles blinked for a second, genuinely surprised, before breaking into a bright grin and clapping his hands together happily. “Excellent choice, my friend. A rather popular combination in England, I couldn’t resist putting it on the menu.”

Mentally sending Hank the order, Charles topped up Erik’s glass once more. He itched to delve further, see what else that intricate mind was keeping from him - but this time, he would keep his head to himself and use the power of speech, not telepathy. That was only half the fun, after all, like cheating at a difficult puzzle, “So, if I may ask, what do you do, Mister...?”

///

And now the other man was looking slightly embarrassed, slightly panicked. Erik was good at reading people, at reading their reactions and their body language, and it was next to impossible to get a complete read on the man in the whites.

His eyes snapping around the restaurant, looking over the sparse crowd.

Those emotions flitting over his face. Everything laid bare for anyone with eyes or insight to notice.

And then, that intense gaze on him again, and he knew that trick well - he’d used it on others to great effect - and yet Erik was still falling for it. Being convinced that the man was giving him all his attention. How did he do it?

Another thing. If he was supposed to be in the kitchen as the whites implied, why was he still out here? Wasn’t he needed inside to cook or supervise or whatever it was he did to earn him all those scars?

All that flitting through Erik’s mind, a hectic whirl of activity, nothing as intense as his usual day at the office. These thoughts were both exciting and relaxing at the same time, and when had that ever happened to him?

“Lehnsherr, Erik Lehnsherr,” he said. instead of asking any of his questions. He had to laugh since he, too, had been neglecting the social niceties. People called him an ass, a bastard, and many other things besides, but he did usually remember his manners. “Excuse my rudeness.” He offered his hand over the bar.

///

Charles didn’t hesitate as Erik offered his hand, reaching across the bar for a firm, friendly handshake. “A pleasure, Mr. Lehnsherr, but it’s me who should be apologising. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.” Erik’s surname explained the slight accent. Charles let go of Erik’s hand, vaguely wishing his own wasn’t so rough. His skin was covered in a patchwork of burns and scars, thanks to a certain exploding gas cooker, as well as many other minor incidents that seemed to come with hiring an entirely mutant team of kitchen staff.

A very clumsy mutant team, too. They needed all the training they could get, not just with cooking, but also on knowing when it was best to give the food a little longer to bake through and not to spit a fireball at it and call the smoking crater an Angel’s Delight. Charles was patiently teaching them to control their powers and at the same time teaching them how to handle a kitchen knife.

The jumble of thoughts Erik was unknowingly projecting was enough to cause Charles’ head to spin. Dammit, the man missed nothing, though Charles couldn’t quite tell if this pleased him or not. He liked a challenge after all. Especially ones with beautiful sea-green eyes and smiles that could melt a person to his or her knees.

Charles felt his skin prickle at the fleeting mention of him still being behind the bar instead of in the kitchen. Perhaps it was a good idea to check on Hank. He’d sent Alex and Angel home for the night, leaving himself, Raven and Hank to hold the fort for the evening. As competent as Hank was, the last thing Charles wanted was for him to make a mess of Erik’s dinner.

“If you’ll excuse me, Erik - may I call you Erik?” Charles didn’t give him a chance to reply as he continued speaking, backing toward the kitchen door. “I’d best... prepare your meal.” He bit back saying _check on the meal_ , since Erik hadn’t actually seen him give any instructions or even write it down. That would be a little too strange.

Sliding through the kitchen door, Charles was greeted with the not-pleasant sight of Raven making out with Hank against the fridge. His groan of protest alerted the teens to his presence, and they leapt apart like startled rabbits. Charles held up both hands before they could begin stuttering out excuses. “Please, please, there’s no need to explain. And don’t tell me that’s the chips I can smell burning.”

One quick chip rescue later, Charles shooed Hank out of the way and prepared Erik’s fish himself, sending Raven out to keep an eye on the till. It took a little longer than normal for him to make sure everything was perfect, nervously plating up the fish and the lemon wedge and the parsley sprig, before taking it out to Erik.

“Sorry about the wait, my friend. Slight chip disaster.” He shot a meaningful look at Raven, who rolled her eyes.

///

He felt his eyebrows rising as Charles Xavier blushed and made his excuses and all but turned tail, running back into the kitchen. Could he possibly be ashamed of his hands? Those were battle scars, reminders of an honest man doing honest work, and it made him smile a little, remembering his mother’s pride in her calluses.

Good scents were coming out of that kitchen - so maybe Janos and Azazel were on to something after all.

He looked up when the doors moved again. It hadn’t been a minute since Xavier had disappeared. The girl who came out was blonde, with a fey cast to her face; she would have been more interesting to him if a) she hadn’t looked like she wasn’t even in her twenties and b) she didn’t have a rather obvious hickey riding the collar of her rumpled blue shirt.

He buried his grin in his wine glass, felt the warmth flow lower, down to his knees and feet; he was seriously thinking about staking out this particular spot at the bar for a good long time, rain and night be damned.

And then there was a muffled crash, Xavier raising his voice - and then the man himself was walking back out.

Erik raised his eyebrow again when Xavier shot the girl a Look - something quelling/affectionate/amused - and then all of his attention was taken by the plate in Xavier’s hands.

Golden-brown fish - a large piece bigger than his two hands put together. A heap of dark-brown chips - and how did the kitchen know he liked his chips like that? An accident of cooking?

As Xavier deposited the plate on the bartop, he accidentally knocked the cutlery over - and Erik wasn’t thinking when he simply reached out his hand and stopped the knife and the fork from hitting the floor.

///

Both Charles and Raven gasped in shock, eyes widening as they watched the cutlery hover in the air beneath Erik’s outstretched fingers. A ripple of excitement shook Charles’ body, the look of surprise on his face slowly melting into a beaming smile. He glanced around the restaurant to make sure no one else had noticed, but luckily the other customers were too engrossed in their own little worlds.

Charles opened his mouth, but Raven suddenly slotted herself between her brother and Erik in a whirl of blonde and blue, an interested smile on her face that Charles’ didn’t like the look of. “Hi, I’m Raven, co-owner.” And she held out her hand.

Charles shoved lightly at her shoulder, annoyed at the _co-owner_ part. Just because she was his sister didn’t mean she had any say in the license. “Raven, back in the kitchen please.”

“But – ”

“No arguing, please, just go.”

Raven huffed out a sigh, fixing Charles with a _we’ll talk later_ glare, before turning smartly on her heel and flouncing back through the swinging door.

Charles rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to Erik. /Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise,/ he said directly into Erik’s mind as he leaned lightly against the bar. /That’s a rather wonderful mutation you have. Telekinesis?/

///

Oh shit.

It must have been the wine.

Erik glanced around warily as he levitated the cutlery back up to his plate. No one seemed to be looking at him - no one but Xavier and Raven, and even they were torn between shock and some kind of excitement - and he put his hands down on the bartop in plain sight.

When the girl practically jumped in front of him he was startled enough to almost make the knife bounce again. She was holding out her hand to him. She sounded almost friendly; but there was something odd in her eyes. Jealousy? Protectiveness?

He was suddenly wondering how she was related to Xavier.

Erik was about to respond to her, was about to shake her hand - when Xavier intervened and then she was nearly growling under her breath as she left.

It was impossible for him to miss the venomous look she shot Xavier’s way, and it made Erik blink in surprise. Perhaps he’d made a mistake in assessing the owner? Were Xavier and Raven - ?

And then Xavier was rolling his eyes - how could such a childish gesture suit him - but if Erik thought he had already had enough surprises for the night, there was still one more coming.

Xavier was speaking to him without words, directly into his mind!

He had to scramble to put his words together: /More specific than that. I can control and manipulate metal.

/You’re a mind-reader! So this is your restaurant’s secret!/

///

“Manipulation over metal? What an interesting ability!” Another ripple of excitement rolled through Charles’ body as he watched the knife rattle against the marble bartop, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet with joy. Since opening the restaurant, he’d snatched glimpses of other mutants in the crowds, but none had made themselves known to him. Apart from the staff, he’d never spoken to another of his kind before, and it was an extremely thrilling experience, like a child discovering a new friend. He longed to see the full extent of Erik’s powers - could he shape metal? Stretch one object into an entirely new one? Was there a limit on weight, or could he lift something as huge as a submarine over his head?

Charles laughed under his breath at Erik’s mental words, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “I do occasionally take a little look just to see how people like their steak,” he joked, before narrowing his eyes a little as he looked hard at Erik, as if doing so would help him see further inside his head. “But your mind is particularly complex, hence my little... error, earlier. You are truly fascinating, my friend.”

///

/But you, in a kitchen, with actual scorch marks, and using your telepathy to check in on your diners? When you could clearly be doing so much more? You confuse me./

And then the rest of Xavier’s words hit him, like a baseball bat to the head. That strange joy lighting up his eyes.

Erik was torn between running toward those eyes, and running away from them.

/ _Complex._ / He looked down at his still-untouched plate. /Am I to you some kind of game or toy or plaything?/

///

Charles felt his cheeks burn, dropping his eyes to Erik’s untouched plate. “I work with others like us too. Raven, in fact, is a shapeshifter. And you wouldn’t be surprised about my burns if you met our trainee chef.”

He wasn’t sure how to answer Erik’s confusion. He was a powerful telepath, even he couldn’t really deny that, but underneath all that was a burning desire to simply... fit in. He used his powers to bring himself closer to “normal” humans, not push them away. He didn’t quite understand what Erik believed he could do.

At Erik’s last words, Charles snapped his eyes back to his face, shaking his head quickly, “No, Erik,” he spoke out loud this time, sliding his hands across the bar as if he was going to take hold of Erik’s, but he stopped himself, their fingertips barely brushing. “Of course not, I didn’t mean that. You’re just... your mind, it’s...” he searched for the right word, a little flustered. “It’s beautiful. I simply meant that you intrigued me, please don’t misunderstand me.”

///

Erik drew a deep breath and consciously willed himself to calm down.

A shapeshifter. Mutants in the kitchen. Xavier’s hands. The red stain of his blush creeping across his pale skin.

How strange.

He looked down, at the other man’s hand almost brushing his, and felt an odd sort of peace washing over him.

No one had ever called him beautiful before.

And certainly no one as mercurial and interesting as Charles Xavier.

So he gave the compliment back, in the same backhanded way he’d received it.

/Are you waiting for me to apologize? Shall we start over?/

He willed himself to forget that this meeting had been so unexpected, so strange; willed himself to simply fall into it, to run forward into it and see what happened next.

It was difficult for some reason to move his hand away from Xavier’s - but he /was/ hungry and he hadn’t even tried the fish yet. Hands gripping his fork and knife firmly, he cut off a piece and brought it up to his mouth.

It was delicious. He closed his eyes, let out a soft groan.

/Maybe there is a point to you being in that kitchen after all,/ he said, and when he opened his eyes and grinned, he made sure he was looking down at his plate.

///

Charles’ expression grew impossibly sad at the inner turmoil practically rolling off Erik in thick waves. He didn’t need to probe inside his head to feel the emotion; Erik was projecting it, screaming it.

The telepath leaned back as Erik started on his fish, the edges of hope brimming under his skin. What was it about Erik that made Charles desperate for his approval? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but with one look in those bottomless eyes, he knew he couldn’t let this go.

Whatever it was.

When Erik finally spoke, Charles lit up once more, daring an uncertain grin and a friendly wink. /So you think I’m good for something after all. Perhaps I could take over the world with well cooked food? But anyway, you’re right; let’s start this over again. I promise I won’t be such an arse this time./

///

Erik sighed and dared to look up and there was something uncoiling inside him at Xavier’s unsteady grin, at the wink being tipped in his direction.

/I have to tell you that I have not had a conversation like this in so long,/ he said, spearing a chip with his fork. /I might seem rusty, or uncouth. I do not mean to be./

He didn’t wait for Xavier to respond and after he’d washed down his mouthful with a little more wine, he began to talk, quietly.

“My name is Erik Lehnsherr. Engineer. I work at Frost Industries.” He grinned, showing his teeth, remembering the exchange with Janos and Azazel.

“Tell me about yourself, Xavier.”

///

Charles tried not to think too hard about the way his heart flipped when Erik smiled. He could imagine a smile like that being both alluring and terrifying, a powerful weapon indeed.

He listened patiently and then returned the smile with an arch of his eyebrows. “An engineer? Very fitting for your skills.”

Erik’s job certainly sounded stressful, with a boss that came across as rather cold, pardon the pun.

“Well, my name’s Charles Xavier. I was born in England but I’ve lived over here for quite some time now, with my sister Raven.” He shrugged, more interested in talking about Erik than himself. “I opened this restaurant a few months back, with a group of mutants I’ve kind of... taken under my wing. They need a lot of teaching on handling their powers, hence the scars. So, are you married? Any children?”

///

Well, all right, perhaps he could cut Xavier some slack. Erik usually had to deal with ordinary humans at the office, and he could forgive them their little inadequacies, their obsessions with bureaucracy and getting ahead - but a man who would not only take in mutants but also teach them how to work in a _kitchen_ \- that sounded like too much work and a disaster area waiting to happen besides.

Although, now that he could see the shards of glass behind the bar, perhaps that disaster area happened in here every day.

There was something funny and, strangely, endearing, in that.

As for those last two questions - impertinent, was he? Well, two could play that game.

/Why don’t you look and find out,/ Erik said, and he hid his grin in the white napkin.

///

Charles blinked in pleasant surprise, huffing a breathless laugh through his nose. “Really? Only if you’re sure. Sometimes it’s rather difficult to pinpoint one section of the memory; you wouldn’t want me finding out your dirty secrets, would you?” A playful smile on his lips as he leaned on his folded arms, peering at Erik from beneath his lashes.

A natural flirt, Charles couldn’t resist the slightly provocative behaviour, especially not after such an intimate request. Receiving permission to read a person’s mind was a great honour, one Charles hardly ever received. Most people preferred him to stay out of their minds, afraid of what he would find in there.

///

And, all right, perhaps Erik was _allowed_ to enjoy himself every once in a while. Xavier was certainly easy on the eyes, even with his beaten hands. It was the scars that had first made him look, after all.

So he put his napkin down and braced his chin on one hand, began to play with his empty wineglass with the other. Raising an eyebrow, he said it again, out loud this time, letting his voice curl around the words. “Look and find out.”

///

Barely allowing himself to believe Erik was flirting back, Charles pressed two fingers against his temple, locking eyes with Erik as he slipped into the man’s mind. Hundreds of memories blurred across Charles’s vision like snapshots, colours and sounds whirling together. Try as he might, however, he couldn’t find a wife or even a girlfriend amongst them, and no children either.

Reluctantly bringing himself back to the here and now, Charles shut his eyes for a moment, letting the rich slide of Erik’s mind twined with his gently unfold and then pull away. He kept their gazes together as he opened his eyes, resting his chin on the hand that had touched his temple.

“You really _are_ interesting, aren’t you Erik Lehnsherr. A man like me could get lost in there. How your boss manages to get any work done with you around, I’ll never know.”

He cast a sidelong glance at the empty glass. “Would you like some more wine?”

///

It was all Erik could do to keep his emotions from showing up on his face. The brush of Xavier’s mind against his was infinitely gentle and infinitely curious - it was unbearably intimate, and it was _amazing_. He almost didn’t want the connection to be broken; he wanted to have that glowing link always in the back of his head.

He could only hope that he still looked normal when he looked at Xavier, whose posture now nearly mirrored his, hand beneath his chin and fingers at his temple.

He made it look good.

Blink, blink, and the words filtered slowly into his mind, and he was surprised and deeply gratified to hear himself and his own rocksteady voice as he answered. If he let himself smile at Xavier he could always deny it since he knew what he was doing. A quick quirk of his lips.

“I’m not exactly Emma’s type,” Erik said, “that one’s taken off the market and good luck to him.” Pause. “And yes, more wine would be good, but I can’t help but think I’m monopolizing all of your attention and you do have a restaurant to run. Will you want me to come back around closing time?”

///

Charles started at the mention of the restaurant; he had very nearly forgotten where he was, so engrossed in Erik and that fascinating mind of his. Forcing himself to stand up, he did a quick scan of the room, and cursed under his breath when he noticed two new customers seated by the window. They looked less than pleased, and Charles wondered just how long they’d been waiting to be noticed.

Sighing heavily, Charles rubbed the back of his neck in amused embarrassment. “I think you’re right. Plus, I’d hate for your food to go cold just because I can’t keep my mind to myself.” He paused to refill Erik’s glass, pouring a rather generous amount with a pointed smile.

“We close at 11. I would very much like it if you returned then, and we can carry on our conversation.” Shooting Erik a last longing glance, he slid out from behind the bar and headed toward his customers.

///

Erik turned the corner, and looked up. The Chessboard was quiet and dark, only the lights over the front door still glowing.

He looked down ruefully at his watch – it said five after eleven – and then at the box in his hand. Coffee, two cups, and half a dozen cream puffs, from the bakery where he often snatched breakfast before running upstairs to his office. A small paper bag full of packets of creamer and white and brown sugar, because he didn’t even know how Charles took his coffee - or even if he drank the stuff in the first place.

He was twitchy; he was nervous. And he didn’t know why.

Charles Xavier. Who the hell was he? A strange accent, amazing blue eyes, a decided talent in the kitchen - because Erik was starting to think that of course he did a lot of the cooking, or he wouldn’t look so confident, telepathy or not - and, naturally, the aforementioned ability.

A shiver slid down the back of his neck at the memory of Xavier looking at him, with those eyes and that mind.

There was a note pinned to the front door, and it was addressed to him: “Come around back, please.”

Heart knocking in his chest, Erik walked around the building.

///

Charles chewed nervously at his bottom lip, watching the time drip away with a peculiar mix of excitement and terror curling in his stomach. What on earth was he doing? For all his flirtatious nature, Charles had never invited a customer back to the restaurant at closing time, never mind one that he’d possibly offended and then shamelessly flirted with.

What was it about Erik that was so... magnetic? Yes, that was a perfectly fitting word to describe him. Those eyes, that smile, the dark edge of danger and seduction that practically clung to him - it turned Charles’ blood to fire.

Raven had attempted to squeeze every last scrap of information from him, her questions becoming increasingly intimate. Unsatisfied with his answers, she’d left in a huff, with a parting shot of “Don’t expect me to clean any tables you have sex with him on.”

Just when Charles was beginning to panic that Erik wasn’t going to return, there was a light knock at the back door. He wrenched it open a little too quickly.

“Erik, so glad you came back. Come on in.” Stepping back to allow the taller man to enter, Charles closed the door behind them, leading him back through the kitchen and into the dining area. Most of the chairs were upturned on the tables, but he’d left one table still set.

///

There was the door, and there he was with the coffee and the pastries in his hand, and there was nothing for it but to man up and knock.

And then the door was being thrown open - he wondered if Xavier had “heard” him.

What had happened to him? When he’d left Xavier had seemed equally despondent and distracted, bustling around the tables, listening intently to his customers and their requests.

Erik had thrown one last look over his shoulder as he stepped out the door, into the fine mist that the rain had left behind, and had found himself being pinned down by Xavier’s eyes. There was a promise in there somewhere, and he hoped he had read him correctly, hoped that he was doing the right thing by nodding, sharply, once, before turning away.

Xavier looked far less composed now, his hair sticking up in all directions. The edge of panic in the way he carried his shoulders. The strain around his eyes.

Erik really, really wanted to find out why.

The kitchen gleamed - but Erik only had a moment to appreciate the immaculately clean pots and pans and hobs before he was stepping back into the restaurant. Soft darkness, and the room seeming to shrink away to the warmest corner: the one lit lamp, and a table set for two. The bottle of wine, the glasses at the ready, as if waiting for them.

Xavier’s hands shaking as he picked up a lighter from the table - and Erik held up one hand, into his line of sight. Plucked the lighter from Xavier’s hands with a thread of his ability, guided it carefully to light the candles on the table.

“Give it some ceremony,” he said, quietly, not knowing why he was saying the words. Words he’d learned from his mother. “When you light the candles at table, you banish fear and evil. When you light the candles, you welcome your guests with your heart.”

///

Charles stared, bright eyes blown wide with surprise and awe. Erik’s soft accent shaped each word, and something akin to a dreamy smile spread slowly across Charles’s face once the taller man finished. He could barely breathe, blood thumping in his ears in time with the rapid beating of his heart.

“Erik, that was stunning.” His words were breathless, heat trickling down his spine, across his skin. “I had no idea you were so poetic. Thank you.”

Charles adored literature - from the moment he had learnt to read, he had sought out nearly every book his parents had owned, and he had amassed quite a large collection of his own by the time he moved into his own apartment. Poetry had always been a secret weakness of his, something even Raven didn’t know. Coming from Erik’s lips, the short sentences almost brought him to his knees.

Swallowing thickly, Charles forced his eyes away, carding his fingers through his hair in an attempt to stop it sticking up. Erik looked so handsome with those strong features shadowed in the candlelight, and Charles desperately wished he’d changed into something other than his chef’s uniform. In his hurry to make the restaurant as tidy as possible, he’d completely neglected his own appearance, and now he deeply regretted it as he caught sight of flames dancing in those delicious eyes.

The scent of the coffee was filling up the room, and Charles smiled down at the cups, suddenly deeply interested in what was hidden in the bag Erik held. “You didn’t need to bring anything, but that’s very kind of you.” He waved to one of the chairs, the one with the nicest view of the softly lit room. “Please, take a seat.”

///

“I...what? It was a blessing my mother used to say, over the candles. We were never exactly observant, but she taught me what I needed to know – which was not much. I admit all my social skills come from her, though I’m afraid they’ve deteriorated over time.”

Erik sat down. The candles cast a warm light over the other man’s face, over the hands that were still moving vainly through his hair.

And he nearly sat down on his own hands. He had the strangest need to put his hands in Xavier’s hair, to know how that mass of wavy brown felt like in his fingers.

In fact, he wanted to touch Xavier: the shadows pooling around his collar; the thin skin over his wrists where they emerged from his sleeves. The dark half-circles beneath his eyes. What would he be like under those chef’s whites? What would it be like to run his fingers over those scars and scrapes and scorch marks?

What would it be like to kiss him?

Infatuation, he told himself sternly, knowing it for a lie. It went deeper than that. He didn’t understand it; he couldn’t question it.

Instead he busied himself with the coffee and the pastries. “I did not know how you took your coffee, and I was an ass for not asking - so I just brought creamer and sugar,” he said, helplessly. “And, well, cream puffs.” Erik shrugged, knew he needed to look away, couldn’t stop staring at Xavier’s face. “They’re good, I can tell you that at least.”

///

Charles took his coffee with a grateful nod, smiling as he pulled off the lid to add creamer and sugar.

He was the kind of person who smiled easily and often, even to the point of forcing them although he actually wanted to scream. He hadn’t experienced a real smile like this, real and heart-flipping, in years. He wished he could tell Erik how thankful he was, wished he could show it by reaching across the table to grab a fistful of coat lapels and bring their mouths together in a bruising kiss. He wondered what that would be like; would the texture of Erik’s lips be soft or firm, what would he taste like; would the skin of his bare chest be as sun-kissed as his face -

Another blush crept slowly up Charles’ neck at the heated thoughts, and he blew on the hot coffee, letting the calming smell surround him. He usually drank tea, but once in a while he indulged himself with a perfectly roasted cup of good java.

The rustle of the bag distracted him, and Charles’s smile only grew wider at its contents. “Cream puffs!” He could barely keep the excitement from his voice. “I may be a chef of fine cuisine, but sometimes you simply can’t beat the basics.”

He pulled one apart with his fingers, forgetting all etiquette as he licked in to reach the cream, “So tell me more about you, Erik,” he asked, “do you live close by?”

///

Erik let his breath out in a quiet rush, suddenly glad that Xavier wasn’t looking at him. It gave him just enough time to calm his heart as it continued to hammer against his ribs.

He pulled the lid off his own coffee, dropped in three sugars, stirred idly.

Distracted could not even begin to cover it.

Xavier’s smile; his intense concentration on his coffee. The tidy little motions of his hands, tearing packets open. A glimpse of teeth worrying his lower lip. Sugar spilling out and a soft hiss, white crystals on his skin. Erik pulled his eyes away with an effort.

Now was not the time to think about taking that wrist in his hand and licking along the veins, stark blue against pale skin; now was not the time to think about what sounds Xavier might make if he sucked those fingertips into his mouth, one by one.

On the other hand, he was a _telepath_. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, Erik thought, and hadn’t he already given him permission to read his mind? Xavier might already be picking up on him - might already know every filthy thought swirling through his head - and he had better indulge himself. Let Xavier sort out that sudden and intense image of Erik kissing him: hands curved around the back of his neck and the small of his back.

And that was, of course, the exact moment when the other man discovered the cream puffs.

Erik closed his eyes. Too much. Too much. Xavier was licking up the cream, like a child and like a damned tease. Desire thick in his throat, roaring in his ears, as he tried to answer the question. He swore vehemently in his head when he heard himself answer, in a voice a full octave lower than normal. “Close by - not exactly; I normally walk to and from my office. I’ve gotten used to walking the twelve blocks.”

///

“Twelve blocks? That’s a pretty long way - ”

Charles broke off in mid-sentence as he lifted his attention from the cream puff, almost squeezing the filling from the pastry as his hands instinctively clenched at the sight. Erik’s eyes were closed, lashes fluttering, yet the tension to his shoulders, the bob of his throat as he swallowed... the sheen of coffee-moist lips in the candlelight... Charles forced himself to swallow his mouthful of food, the noise almost audible in the sudden silence. Erik looked good enough to eat, on the verge of discomposure. Forget the sweet pastries - Charles would have gladly licked the coffee off those lips instead.

Snippets of thought flashed bright into Charles’s mind as he dared just the barest of glimpses - Erik had given him permission after all - and his breath hitched in his throat, blood rushing thick and fast through his veins. Was he dreaming? Had he actually died in the cooker explosion and this was in fact Heaven?

Erik was thinking about him in ways that would have made him blush if he hadn’t already gone red. A thrill of wicked pleasure sparked low in Charles’ stomach, and a sly smile spread across his lips. Erik didn’t need to know he’d been caught out, not yet. It was far too much fun to tease.

Remembering to breathe, Charles willed himself to calm down as he not-so-innocently resumed devouring the cream puff. “That is a long journey,” he said, shrugging, trying to act blasé as he waited for Erik’s eyes to open before using his thumb to scoop out some cream from inside the pastry. “It’s a good job I only live around the corner.” Charles pointedly ignored Erik as he licked a long line up his thumb. “I think I’d go mad if I had to walk that far every day. You must be much fitter than I am.”

He didn’t care about what he was saying anymore as he slipped his thumb past his lips, pushing far more than was necessary into his mouth as he sucked away the last traces of cream.

///

Oh, _god_.

Xavier was...what was he doing to himself?

He had to be doing that on purpose.

Erik caught his breath, quietly, under the soft wash of Xavier’s voice, his lips smacking around his thumb. Flash of tongue curling around a clot of rich cream. The muscles in his neck moving as he swallowed.

He really wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Xavier was already on to him. And he was already half-hoping for it.

Control be damned - he’d had enough of this teasing, and there were too many questions that needed answering.

Such as this first one - how would Xavier react if he did this?

Erik smiled and let it grow when Xavier stopped dead in his tracks. Silence like a co-conspirator, thick and drugging and egging him on, and Erik took a deep breath, reached out to catch Xavier’s wrist. Such delicacy in the small bones beneath his fingers - a stark contrast to the marked skin.

“Sssh,” he said, bringing his free hand up to his lips. He looked carefully in Xavier’s eyes and there was mischief sparking in those blue depths, mischief and pleasure, and he barely waited for the other man to nod.

Erik wondered, briefly, what Xavier was seeing in his eyes.

And then he smiled and lifted Xavier’s wrist to his mouth, still holding his gaze. Set his lips over the pulse, breathed in the scent of sugar and sweat and a spicy musk that had to be Xavier’s alone.

And, projecting as loudly as he could, even as he began to nip at that vulnerable skin with his teeth, the gentlest bites he could manage: /Tell me to stop and I will stop. I won’t do anything you’ll be uncomfortable with./

///

A ringing silence hung between them, a virtually tangible force so strong Charles was almost afraid of it, of what it was doing to him.

He froze under Erik’s intense gaze, pausing with the nail of his thumb pressed against his lips, still sticky and wet from the cream and his own mouth. An icy fist closed around his stomach as the silence stretched on. Oh no - had he gone too far, too soon?

But then the corners of Erik’s mouth curled into a smile and Charles held his breath, transfixed, as the man reached forward to take his wrist. The telepath’s mouth ran dry at the thought of those elegant hands running across his feverish skin.

Charles gasped as Erik pressed his lips to the most vulnerable point of his wrist, pulse jumping, a liquid shudder running throughout his entire body. Oh god, and then there were sharp teeth nipping, causing a flood of desire so strong Charles had to grip the edge of the table to stop from becoming overwhelmed with it.

He knew he must look entirely wrecked, skin flushed, lips parted, his breath coming in short, shaking gasps. He locked eyes with Erik as the projected words echoed in his head, trying to stop his lips from shaking as he smiled in return. If he’d wanted Erik to stop, he would have made him do so without much effort.

Instead, he shook his head. Because he couldn’t trust his voice to stay steady, he replied with his mind. /I don’t want you to stop, Erik. I want more./

///

The voice was crashing into his head /Don’t stop don’t stop please don’t stop/ and Erik closed his eyes against the sudden flood of images - bare skin, red lips, dark hair.

Clear your mind, he told himself, and he took a breath, ran his tongue teasingly over Xavier’s skin - and then he let him go. A smile quirking up his mouth at the other man’s mewl of protest.

Erik folded his hands in his lap and concentrated. Xavier wasn’t wearing much metal - no trace of a watch or jewelry - but he was wearing a belt and the buckle was satisfyingly heavy - and it was the work of a thought to yank him out of his chair, to summon him over to his side of the table.

Right into his lap.

“Hello,” Erik said. “Shall I call you Charles, now?”

///

Charles would have been embarrassed at the needy noises he was making - a breathless moan as Erik’s tongue slid over his wrist, a downright whine of protest once his hand was released - but he didn’t have a chance to think as his belt buckle suddenly lurched and dragged his hips forward out of his seat.

Half laughing, half startled, Charles let the belt lead him the short distance around the table, until he had no choice but to part his knees and slide onto Erik’s lap.

Charles’s brain was racing as rapidly as his hammering heart. Not knowing where to put his hands, he settled for resting them against Erik’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beating through the layers. Erik’s eyes were impossibly dark, and Charles could see himself reflected in them, pale between the candle flames dancing in those blue-green depths.

He smiled at Erik’s question, enjoying the sensations as he drew his hands up to link lightly across broad shoulders, “You can call me whatever you want,” he teased as he leaned forward to hungrily push his lips against Erik’s.

///

Erik caught his breath as Charles landed in his lap, all muscles and fever-hot skin. The candlelight played over his eyes and his cheeks and his mouth, still wet and flushed from his demonstration.

The urge to dive in with hands and tongue was overwhelming, like a fire burning in his gut and in his mind - but it wasn’t as if he had anything more urgent to do. A smile as Charles leaned into him, mouth a delicate tease against his temple, and Erik let him claim the first kiss - but let him have no more than the briefest brush of lips and tongue, smirking as Charles groaned with frustration.

“Patience,” he murmured, and then - there, close enough, just over the hammering beat of Charles’s heart Erik could sense the tiny metal studs holding his shirt together.

He caught Charles’s chin in his hand, smiling wickedly. “Do you want to?” And without waiting for an answer - snap, snap, snap - and he dove in, blaring /Finally finally finally/ at the other man, kissing him hot and hard and needy. His hands sliding into the shirt, feeling out the other man’s body, still covered by another layer of cloth.

///

The fleeting touch of Erik’s mouth was as powerful as a deadly drug, need snaking through Charles’ veins like fire and ice combined. All too soon it was slipping away, however, and the telepath had to physically stop himself from desperately following those retreating lips, his fingers tightening on Erik’s shoulders in sheer frustration.

He didn’t have to time to pout however, eyes flying wide as Erik gripped his chin in gentle fingers. Charles could do little more but stare at the devilishly handsome man before him, a little scared and a whole lot excited at the raw lust coiling hot in his stomach.

The seductive words, the delicious pop pop popping of his buttons, and suddenly Erik’s lips were crushed to Charles’s in a kiss so loaded with passion that the telepath’s knees would have given away had he been standing up. He melted into the kiss with equal hunger, arching beneath Erik’s hands on his chest. Oh how he wanted to feel them on his skin.

The candlelight illuminated a woven mix of blond and brown in Erik’s hair as Charles sank his fingers into the fine strands, humming against the man’s wicked mouth as he attempted to push even closer.

///

All of Erik’s desires were bypassing his mind and his mouth and simply flying into the space between him and Charles. What little there was of it. A distant part of him was telling him that Charles was right up against his chest, squirming to get closer, escape the farthest thing from his mind.

Again and again, kisses like duels and caresses and the very pulse shaking between them. Charles’s mouth tasted like heaven and hell and absolution, and he was never, ever going to get enough of it.

On the other hand - there was more to him than just his mouth, and there were a few other questions that needed answering.

Something in Erik cried out in triumph when he broke the kiss and Charles let out a frustrated moan.

He was going to find out what other sounds he could wring from this beautiful man and so he let his tongue brush over the curve of his jaw, down and dipping and his hand at the back of Charles’s head was moving, pulling, and he was tasting sweat and skin and he couldn’t resist grazing that Adam’s apple with his teeth.

///

Charles shuddered with pleasure at the tug to his hair and tipped his head back obediently, hissing at the slight edge of pain mixing with the blood pounding in his ears. He was just barely aware of his own high-pitched gasps, breathless as Erik’s tongue and teeth did wonderful things to his throat.

He squirmed in Erik’s lap; he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, frustrated with himself, knowing he wanted to do _everything_. His telepathy was going haywire the further out of control he slipped, until he no longer knew where he ended and Erik began.

A particularly sharp nip to the sensitive pulse of his neck ripped a yelp from him, bucked his hips forward, and something inside Charles snapped. He pulled the tails of Erik’s shirt out of his waistband and slid his hands up and in, running his palms over the silken skin of Erik’s stomach, dragging blunt nails over the muscles.

///

It took all of his self-control - and Erik had a lot of it - not to simply fall to pieces the moment he felt Charles tug at his shirt. Ten points of searing heat - Charles’s fingertips sliding over his skin - and, helpless, Erik threw his head back, gritting his teeth against the moan that was threatening to tear itself from his throat.

And through it all, Charles’s mind, wrapped around his. Every image a jolt of heat down his nerves. Charles watching himself touch Erik, Erik himself as seen through Charles’s eyes. The vague idea of tipping the chair over, of the two of them swaying into each other on a bed on the floor up against the wall.

Blood on Charles’s mouth, copper-bitter - and that screamed for his attention. Erik jerked back upright, captured Charles’s face in his hands and reeled him in for another kiss. He deliberately held himself back, deliberately gentled his movements. His fingers stroking the other man’s cheeks and temples. /You hurt yourself because of me sorry sorry sorry./

///

Charles shook his head at the apologies, absently licking blood off his lips. /No no no like it please want this want you/

God, even his mental voice was slipping past the point of coherency, a jumble of words and raw emotion fighting for dominance.

Nuzzling into the hands framing his face, Charles twisted to push a kiss into the hollow of Erik’s palm, tasting sugar and salt and skin. A sidelong glance at Erik and then his tongue was pressing against hot flesh, tracing lifelines and deep curves. Charles’s hands continued to explore Erik’s stomach, curious touches trailing higher, dragging the fabric along with them.

He licked between Erik’s fingers, tongue following the map of blue veins up a thumb before curling around the tip. Charles’s heart pounded against his ribs as he moved to press a chaste kiss to each of Erik’s fingertips. The man had incredibly long, regal hands that sent shudders down Charles’s back at the thought of them touching him – and then he closed his lips around one finger, sucking it teasingly slowly into his mouth. The rounded scratch of a nail, tongue coiling around knuckles and Charles was lost to his need. Their coffee stood stone cold, the wine corked and untouched, but the telepath didn’t care.

/Come home with me?/ The projected thought rang between them, accented with the light pressure of teeth around Erik’s finger. As much as Charles wished he could just sweep all the items off the bar and drag Erik onto its marble surface, a nice bed /sofa wall table anything please please/ would probably be more preferable. And his apartment was only a block away.

///

Erik knew he looked a complete wreck when he finally stumbled out of the Chessboard, even before he considered that he was walking out of the place with his hand in both of Charles’s. The same hands that had been tracing heat over his skin - the same hands that were now, in addition to being marked all over, red from the cold night.

With the chef’s uniform hidden away in a fraying cardigan and a peacoat that was at least two sizes too large for him, Charles looked - well, he looked excited, and there was just a shadow of apprehension in those eyes and - you know what, fuck this, Erik thought, and stopped dead, waited for Charles to turn back to him with his mouth dropping open in protest and confusion.

Erik reeled him in, kissing him right under the streetlight in front of God and the world, damn whatever they thought, damn his own reason that was screaming at him to break it off, to not let himself get carried away. Damn them all, Erik thought, and after a moment he decided to start projecting toward Charles: /Damn the world, I don’t care that I’ve just met you, fuck if I’m ever going to fucking let you go/

Flash of an answering smile, the image of Charles’s brilliant happiness, and he was breaking off the kiss with great reluctance and he was whispering, “Charles, your flat, _now_.”

He would have smiled at Charles’s panicked fumbling with the front door - but he waved his hand and the locks clicked open obediently, Erik wondering where he’d gotten the focus to use his powers correctly when every cell in his body was orienting toward Charles as though he were magnetic north - and then, finally, they were inside, and he simply whirled them around, hand cupped strongly around the back of the other man’s head, and he was kissing Charles again, taking in his sweetly muffled moans.

///

Charles would have been embarrassed at the state of his flat - littered with books and papers and recipes and journals - but the world steadily narrowed to Erik’s mouth on his, the hand cupping his head. Charles hummed into the kiss, curling his fingers into Erik’s coat and leading them blindly backwards into the room.

He fumbled with the fastenings of Erik’s coat, pushing it over the taller man’s shoulders to drop to the floor. Those beautiful, passionate words from the street echoed like a mantra in his head, filling him with a warm, bubbling excitement. Charles had had his share of meaningless one night stands, but Erik... Erik was different. It was overwhelming, dizzying, and Charles had never wanted someone quite like this, to simply hold them in his arms, fling open the door to his heart and welcome them in. He knew they were moving quickly, but it felt right, as if they’d been waiting years for this moment. He knew that this wouldn’t be a one-shot deal.

Breaking the kiss when the need for air became a burn in his lungs, Charles buried his face in the slope of Erik’s neck, sucking panted breaths through bruised lips. His telepathy sparked back to life, unintentionally projecting the urge to simply push Erik onto the plush couch - his bedroom seemed a hundred miles away. /Where.. where do you...?/ He kissed along the exposed curve of Erik’s throat, /Please just... anything. Need you so much./

///

Erik groaned softly as Charles ran his hands over his shoulders, down his arms. The soft thump of his coat hitting the floor. He reached up to his hat, thought briefly about throwing it across the room but then - he broke off the kiss, smiled and ran his thumb over Charles’s kiss-swollen lips, and put the hat on his head instead. The brim slipping down to cover the other man’s blue eyes, and Erik laughed and claimed another kiss, broadcasting /Beautiful beautiful beautiful/

He could almost “hear” Charles, they were so deeply entwined in each other now and he was starting to lose track of where he ended and Charles began. An overwhelming urge to tear down those last barriers between them, and there was an image of a door being flung open and he didn’t know what it meant but he knew it had to be something good, and as soon as Charles sent him the stray image of the couch he pulled away from the kiss. A soft groan in the air, a soft sigh - and it hit him like a blow to the head when he realized that _he_ had been making those sounds.

“Stop, Charles,” he said quietly, and he shook him gently, waiting for the blue eyes to refocus. “I want to do this right. Your bed. Now. _Please_ ,” and he leaned in to kiss the tip of Charles’s nose. /You strange man; I want to do all kinds of things to you, and with you, do you know the difference, please let me show you?/

///

Charles grinned as the hat was placed on his head, obstructing his eyes as it slid down over the bridge of his nose. The next searing kiss seemed to be amplified with the loss of his vision, and he gasped into Erik’s mouth as laughter rang through his skull, clinging to strong arms like a lifeline. He was drowning, going under, control trickling through his hands like water, but he wanted it -

The hushed words helped soothe his racing mind a little, and Charles filled his lungs enough to burst, shaky and uneven, before exhaling in a long, unbroken gush. His shoulders sagged with the force, and he pushed the brim of the hat up with a thumb, “I’m sorry, Erik, sorry. I can’t help it,” he looked up into Erik’s eyes - /yes, yes, so beautiful/ - attempting a tight smile as he desperately willed his blood to cool, “being this close to you, it’s like I can’t control myself anymore. The effect you have on me...” he pulled the hat off, letting it drop on top of Erik’s discarded coat, guiding their lips back together with a gentle press at the nape of Erik’s neck, “I’ve never felt like this before.”

Finally able to breathe again, breaching the surface of control and focus, Charles purred to himself and thought, /Yes, please, please show me, I’m sorry, please show me/

Taking Erik’s hands between his own, Charles pulled Erik toward his room. Small but neat, though as crowded with books as the sitting room, pictures of himself with his sister on the walls. The curtains were still open, letting the moonlight filter in like spilt paint across the sheets. Erik looked positively stunning in the dappled light, and Charles smiled at him as he absently kicked the door shut, reaching up to brush fingertips along the strong line of the man’s jaw, the shell of his ear.

///

Erik’s hard-won resolve was threatening to unravel again as Charles led him the short distance to his room. It was good to know he felt like everything was new and _right_ , too.

He twitched his fingers as Charles kicked the door closed: locks clicking into place.

Erik closed his eyes as the other man reached up to him again. Rough fingertips catching over the lines in his face, five-o’clock shadow. An awed voice, a hushed whisper in his mind: /Lucky beautiful amazing./

He smiled and caught Charles by the wrists, stilling those hands. “As much as I like it when you touch me - I promised I’d show you things. Let me.”

Waiting for Charles to nod, trying to reassure him with smiles and soft kisses - he brought one wrist up to his mouth again, a gentle kiss, and then Erik got down on his knees. “Hands by your sides, please.”

He knew Charles was watching him with wide eyes. Slowly, deliberately, fighting every instinct he had to simply dive in and ravish the other man: peacoat and cardigan gone. The white shirt, buttons already askew, falling softly around Charles’s feet.

A quick detour down, moving his shoulders under Charles’s hands and murmuring, “Out of your shoes, please.” Erik pulled the socks away, as well, leaving Charles barefoot.

Erik got to his feet, took a swift kiss from Charles’s mouth - and finally, finally, he slid his hands under the final layer, the thin white undershirt.

In the shadows and moonlight Charles’s pale skin seemed to almost glow. Erik caught his breath, placed his hand over Charles’s heart. A frantic beat.

/I have never seen anyone so beautiful./

///

Charles could only stare in shock and raw desire as Erik slowly stripped him, letting each item drop to the floor without protest. It wasn’t until Erik’s long fingers slid under his t-shirt that he even moved, pressing into the touch, unable to bite back a groan as those burning hands finally touched his skin. He lifted his arms and the shirt was gone, his chest bared and pale in the moonlight. He blushed, blood seeping down his neck and shoulders, highlighting the thin dusting of freckles, and he fought the instinct to cross his arms. He smiled at Erik’s confession, dropping his eyes coyly to the floor as his heart boomed beneath the man’s palm.

/I’m nothing compared to you./

Forcing his limbs to work, Charles raised his hand to cover Erik’s for a moment, before sliding it up the taller man’s arm, twisting into thick fabric /Can I...? Please, I want to see you/

Tentative at first, Charles ran his hands down Erik’s chest, already feeling the hard edges of the body underneath, and he shivered - why on earth did someone like Erik want someone like him?

But it wasn’t something he was going to dwell on, and he tugged at buttons with clumsy fingers. Each inch of golden skin revealed to him was enough to run his mouth dry, and he licked his lips. The man had a body to die for. /You are so beautiful lucky so lucky/

Pushing the shirt away to pool on the floor, Charles forgot about Erik’s promise for a moment, aching to feel skin against his own. He slid into Erik’s space, a puzzle finally completed as he wrapped his arms around Erik’s slim waist, stomach to stomach, listening to a steady heartbeat.

///

/Charles!/

Erik could not bite back the moan as Charles undid the buttons of his shirt. In the pale light he could see those shaking fingers, the determined twist of the other man’s mouth.

He could hear his blood pounding hotly in his own skin, the need from before doubling and redoubling with each brush of Charles’s hands. Erik clenched his fists at his sides. He could feel the whirl of Charles’s thoughts, the desire like a high ringing note struck between the two of them, a sound that pulled them closer and closer toward each other.

He looked down, into those avid eyes and that needy mouth. An image of need, and Erik wondered if Charles could see just how close he was - almost ready to lose his mind to lust.

And when Charles closed the gap between them - those slender arms winding around him, the hot hiss of air over his skin as Charles buried his face in his chest, he growled and blared /Too much want you now now now/, and picked him up easily, all but threw him onto the bed. Charles an unsteady sprawl of limbs beneath him, light and shadow playing over his freckles, the muscles of his shoulders and arms.

“I need this, I need you,” /forgive me forgive me/, and Erik crawled over him, holding him down. He bowed his head, willing the frantic desire away - /oh fuck I can’t/ - and then he rolled his hips, the contact with Charles making him see stars. /You want me? How can you want me?/

///

Strong arms encircled his waist, hoisted him off his feet, and Charles yelped in surprise as he was thrown onto the bed, soft mattress below him and then - /oh god/ - the hard heat of Erik pressing into him. He was overwhelmed by the sudden rush of heady emotions, unsure anymore which belonged to him and which were Erik’s: desire, guilt, lust, passion, need, want, and he squeezed his eyes shut, panting heavily.

Before he could control the turmoil in his mind, Erik’s hips ground into his and Charles cried out at the burst of pleasure it brought, tipping his head back against the mattress with a soft thud. His body shook with the aftershocks, and he grabbed at Erik’s shoulders with unsteady hands, dragging him down for another searing kiss, tongues and teeth and almost completely past the point of coherent conversation. /Want you want you so much oh please Erik pleaseplease/

He roamed scarred hands over the smooth planes of Erik’s back, over the bump of sharp shoulder blades and hips, before curling brazenly into the waistband of his trousers. Nipping Erik’s kiss-bruised bottom lip between his teeth, Charles parted his legs a little wider, allowing Erik’s hips to slide snugly between his thighs. /You have no idea how beautiful you are./ He tugged at Erik’s belt, staring up into eyes full of wonder and lust and the edge of confusion.

/Please, Erik. I’m yours./

///

Charles in his mind, gentle and quiet and full of passion. /I’m yours./

He looked down and fell straight into those blue eyes. Wide and sincere and fogged with lust.

It was like seeing himself for the first time.

It was like seeing _Charles_ for the first time.

“You are a gift to me from the gods I no longer believe in,” Erik said, and dared to smile, and then he urged Charles to wrap his legs around his waist. Flash of heat behind his eyes, flash of light and approval in his mind, and he smiled and dropped kisses onto Charles’s eyelids.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Erik murmured. Waited for the smile to bloom on Charles’s face, waited for him to shift on the pillows - and then Erik smiled and sank his teeth into the meat of Charles’s right shoulder, relishing the startled cry before her relented and ran his tongue over the skin teasingly. /What do you want? I am at your service. I just...I just wanted to do that first./

///

A shaky breath as Charles let his eyes flutter shut, anticipation curling under his skin, tingling right down to his fingertips as he waited impatiently for Erik to do something, anything -

Strong teeth sank into his shoulder and Charles cried out once more, legs instinctively squeezing tighter around Erik’s waist, but the sharp pain was instantly cooled by Erik’s soothing tongue. He squirmed on the sheets, wanting more, more of that. He wanted Erik to mark him, show the world who he belonged to, something to prove this had even happed in the morning to Charles’ disbelieving waking mind.

Erik was driving him slowly insane, and he flushed at the question before sucking in a steadying breath and locking eyes with the man above him. /Everything, I want.../ and he broke off the thought and tugged again at Erik’s belt, huffing in irritation. /Off, want these off. Want to feel your skin on mine, all of it, now, Erik./

///

Erik grinned down at Charles. Hair already dark and sweaty and curling around his face. His eyes blown wide with need - thin rims of blue around dilated pupils.

Erik had done that.

And it made him want to laugh and shout and own the other man.

He’d already made a start, and he grinned at the red mark he’d left on Charles’s skin, blood thumping nearly visibly at the surface.

And then Charles was pleading with him, soft touches around his mind, and he was only too happy to oblige: “Stay there, don’t move,” Erik said, quietly, and he reluctantly slid out of bed, turning his back on Charles as he tugged his trousers off. He grinned at the gasp behind him - so Charles liked black briefs? - took those off as well - and then, slowly, he turned around.

He knew what he looked like when he looked at himself in a mirror. All lean and wiry strength, the long muscles of a runner. Scars from a difficult childhood, a long time spent defending himself from the taunts of schoolyard bullies.

But when he looked down at Charles - who was half-sitting up, eyes wide, a red blush high in his cheeks and spreading in interesting ways down his neck and chest - it made him smile.

Charles looked good, and Erik urged him to lie back down, hand over Charles’s heart. As soon as Charles’s head hit the pillows again Erik snapped his fingers, loud in the silence between their harsh breaths.

Charles’s belt unbuckled itself.

Charles was there, surging movement, stripping in jerking motions.

Erik called his name, softly, /Charles,/ and when he could see those eyes again he smiled - and deliberately licked his lips. /Do you want me?/

///

Charles stared through impossibly wide, blown eyes as Erik turned slowly back to him - /holy shit/ - his heart skipped a beat, blood ablaze as he took in the sight.

Erin was stunning, golden skin and scars and lean, athletic beauty. Charles was aware his mouth was hanging open as he looked at him hungrily, but he didn’t care. He longed to feel Erik’s stomach beneath his tongue, or the hard muscles of his legs pinning his hips to the bed. Charles’ eyes wandered lower, and he couldn’t hold back a moan, his answering blush setting his cheeks and neck aflame.

With a twitch of Erik’s fingers, Charles’ trousers unzipped themselves, and the telepath moved like a man possessed, wiggling out of them as quickly as possible. His own body was nowhere near as godly as Erik’s, and his blush became almost shy as he finally stripped down to his own skin.

He clenched his hands in the sheets as Erik licked his lips, nodding quickly, too quickly, at the question. /Yes yes I want you all of you on me in me around me Erik please just -/

He stopped himself mid-thought, eyes fluttering shut as he struggled to regain his composure. Sitting up on his elbows, Charles’ eyes flicked from Erik’s face to the hard heat between his legs and back, and he swallowed thickly. /Let me taste you Erik, please/

///

There was something very gratifying in the wild expressions crossing Charles’s face. Just what else could he make Charles say or do, Erik wondered, and he immediately decided to find out.

“No,” he said, grinning as Charles growled and thrashed in frustration. “Not yet. Lie back, Charles.”

A hand on Charles’s shoulder, waiting for him to calm down, until the only sign of his need was in those hands opening and closing on the sheets.

/You’re gorgeous,/ Erik said, and sat down next to him, wrapping one of Charles’s hands in both of his. /What stories these marks and scars must have - you must tell me your story. Not now. Later. Just let me do this./

Erik closed his eyes and bent to kiss the back and the palm of Charles’s hand - and then he took two fingers in his mouth at once, sucking, hollowing his cheeks for show. He ran his tongue over each finger and then curled it around both, bit playfully down.

Salt, musk, the last traces of sugar from the shop. Charles’s frantic thoughts in his head. He opened his eyes and saw the other man’s face, twisted in a beautiful agony, and he smiled and switched his attentions to the other hand.

/I want, I want,/ he thought, and then he gave up on the words and threw the images at him.

///

/Fuck’s sake, Erik!/

Charles let his head fall back against the pillow with a muffled thud as that wicked mouth suckled on his fingers. The words sounded foreign even to himself, his voice strained and laced with frustration. He’d never been one for harsh language, but right now he was so far gone he barely noticed.

The graphic images swirled through his mind, forcing the air from his lungs, and Charles groaned, lost in beautiful helplessness. Erik’s tongue and teeth and lips dragged waves of pleasure with every touch, and Charles could only shake his head absently in wonder - if Erik could do that just by sucking his fingers, perhaps it was for the best that his mouth wasn’t in more intimate places. There was no way he would last at the mercy of that talented tongue.

He shut his eyes against the thoughts, his free hand ghosting up Erik’s thigh, muscles bunching under rough palms. He wanted to see Erik come undone, hear the noises that screamed in his head from Erik’s own lips, and he dug damp fingers into the man’s flesh. /Then have it, take it - or are you going to make me beg you for it/

///

Erik tensed, feeling himself shake as Charles’s hand moved on him, feeling the wild desire that Charles was projecting at him. It was like having his own images multiplied a hundredfold, like having his own desires reflected at him over and over until he was lost.

But though he might be lost he wasn’t helpless, and he could still feel that one particular image, that one little comment from Charles’s mind - “Is that what you want? Do you want me to put my mouth on you?”

/say yes/

///

Charles glared up at him without any real anger, huffing short breaths as he wriggled on the sheets. His mind was reeling, goose-bumps rising on his skin at Erik’s question. He couldn’t understand what the other man had done to him - usually so calm, collected and polite, now writhing and undone, spread on his bed and pleading to be touched. But whatever it was, he certainly didn’t want it to stop, and he grit his teeth, jaw working as he forced himself to swallow.

Looking up at Erik from under dark lashes, eyes blown and shadowed with lust, Charles nodded. “Yes.”

He fought against the rush of pleas that bubbled in his chest, in his mind, determined to regain some composure. Inching his hand even further up Erik’s thigh, Charles watched for any reaction, painfully aware that he was awaiting permission to explore further.

///

“Make up your mind,” Erik said, laughing quietly as he watched Charles’s hand move. “Either I put my mouth on you or you touch me....” And he trailed off and tilted his head in a question. “Or we can do both, is that what you want?”

And without waiting for an answer Erik got back up to his knees, shifted over and around so that his feet were near the pillows on which Charles’s head was resting. He nudged Charles to lie on his side.

And then, just as he licked his lips and moved to take Charles’s cock in his mouth, he sent a quiet order, half a plea. /Touch me./

///

The mattress bounced as Erik crawled up, turning around on his knees, and Charles’ mind went blank, anticipation and fear and melting lust and all of a sudden he was being enveloped in searing heat, Erik’s mouth wet and red and sliding down down down.

Charles choked on his own scream, nothing but strangled gasps escaping and his hands flew to Erik’s head, threading tightly into thick hair.

/Oh god oh Erik Erik yesyesyes/ babbling words, Erik’s name a mantra chanted over and over in his mind, or maybe from his lips, he couldn’t tell anymore.

Shaking with the effort not to push his hips forward into that beautiful mouth, Charles reluctantly removed his hands from Erik’s hair, focusing his attention on the other man’s need instead.

Running his palms along golden hips and thighs, Charles trailed feather-light fingertips down the length of Erik’s cock, teasingly slowly with his exploration. It was incredibly hard to focus with Erik’s mouth on him, but Charles pushed himself to concentrate, wrapping a hand around Erik’s cock and leaning forward to lick at the swollen head.

///

At the first touch of Charles’s tongue Erik felt his eyes roll back in his head. /fuckfuckfuck yes/ Charles was good, almost too good - he was going to have to fight the overwhelming impulse to come.

Distraction, he needed to get back to what he was doing, and he looked at Charles’s cock all red and wet and he smiled and relaxed his throat - and went down on him again, all the way down now, swallowing him completely.

/Haven’t done this in a while - only for you,/ he sent, and then his world was narrowing down, his thoughts falling to pieces. Nothing but the hot, heavy musk of Charles on his tongue, the whole hard length of him, the red haze of desire, Charles’s thoughts unraveling in his head, taking him with them, till he was hopelessly lost.

///

Charles all but mewled around Erik’s cock, pausing for a moment as rivulets of pleasure sparked thick up his spine, through his stomach, the slick glide of Erik’s throat velvet soft and /so fucking good/ around him..

Heavy heat and musk on his tongue as he licked up the thick vein with hollowed cheeks, pumping fist slick with spit, and Charles was falling, falling into Erik, into the bliss each movement of that oh so skilled mouth coaxed from him.

Invisible fingers sank deep into Erik’s head, twisting and turning, unlocking pleasure centres in his brain as easily as flicking on a light, and Charles used the opportunity to flood Erik’s body with a combined swell of their rapture.

/Erik, Erik - I can’t, this is too much - too good, I’m going to -/ The pleasure was building, scaling heights he’d never reached, melting his bones and tearing at his heart. It was clear to see, even without Charles’ increasingly abandoned whining, that he was going to come if Erik didn’t stop.

///

He knew somehow that Charles was teetering so close to the edge and Erik would have smiled, would have felt amazed and proud and honored - but everything in him now was part of the desperate fight to hold back his own climax. He was not going to come until Charles did - and he redoubled his efforts now, alternating between lapping and licking at Charles’s cock and deep-throating him, again and again, listening intently as Charles began to shatter against and around him.

And, good God, how Charles could keep his own iron control Erik had no idea - that mouth, hot and eager around him. The frantic strokes of his hand.

Charles was betraying himself, though, and Erik could sense it in him, even before hearing the increasingly fragmented cries inside his own mind - they were both riding the razor’s edge, and they were going to have to tip over, and Erik wanted them to fall together if they could.

The world suddenly flashed white before his eyes and Charles was doing something that was overwhelming every instinct and every thought, and Erik could feel himself begin to shake apart, overwhelmed with desire, and he managed to shout /I can’t hold back I can’t I can’t come with me Charles come with me/

///

Charles could feel his climax rushing to overwhelm him with each wet press and glide of Erik’s mouth, pleasure coursing through his veins, nerves tingling, skin on fire. He’d never even dreamed of this kind of ecstasy before, and he could only moan desperately around Erik’s cock as he pushed forward, taking him as deep into his mouth as he could.

It was too much, and as Erik’s voice danced in his mind, Charles felt something inside him snap, break through walls, and he was coming, coming hard enough to hurt.

/Erik!/ His vision whited out, touch and taste and the rush of pleasure shooting through his body. The cries from his throat were muffled, but mentally his shouts were crystal clear, and his spine locker with the involuntary snap of his hips as he released in Erik’s mouth, limbs shaking with blissful tremors.

///

He was swimming in a sea of endless white. Release being wrung from him, like velvet ropes winding around him and squeezing, wrapping around him and he gave in, screaming Charles’s name.

Someone far away was answering him, was crying out his name - /Erik!/ - he snapped back, swallowed Charles to the root - and just in time as a sudden hot pulse hit his throat and he knew he was humming happily as Charles came.

Erik swallowed and licked his lips as he pulled off. He felt boneless, blissful, sated - every movement was like wading upstream; his limbs felt so heavy, and it was a little difficult to orient himself again. He crawled back up to the pillows and looked down, and smiled.

Charles with his eyelids still fluttering, his mouth red and lush and hanging open. Soft sighs. The blush still staining his bared throat, his heaving shoulders.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Charles’s mouth, licking playfully at his lower lip. “Are you all right? Still alive?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning Charles onto his side and scrambling in behind him, pressing the entire length of his body against him, pulling him in close. /god you’re amazing/ He didn’t even know if Charles was still receiving his thoughts, but he said it anyway, over and over.

///

He couldn’t move - boneless and empty, Charles struggled to drag himself from the edge of consciousness. He couldn’t remember taking his hands off Erik’s cock, but they were now gripping the strong thighs in front of him hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. His mouth felt sore, the best kind of used, tongue tingling and lined with the taste of Erik. He licked his lips, swallowed, flopped like a lead weight onto his back. His entire body hummed with bliss, right down to his melting skeleton, and he attempted a weak, dreamy smile at Erik as the man’s shadow fell across him.

Erik looked utterly stunning, unfocused and dizzy in his afterglow, and Charles all but giggled happily as he was pushed onto his side. Erik’s body was beautifully warm pressed to his back, and he snuggled into curves that could have been sculpted for his shape.

“Barely,” his voice sounded breathless to his own ears, and he cleared his throat, curling his hands around the arms tightly wrapped around his chest, “I think you might have melted my insides. In a good way.”

It was impossible to think the pair had only just met as Charles pressed sweet kisses along Erik’s arm. Everything felt so right, so perfect - it was dizzying and frightening and incredibly exciting to imagine what they could become together.

“Was that...” Charles trailed away, blushing faintly again, “was that okay? It’s been a long time and... well, you were so amazing. I probably didn’t even begin to compare.”

///

Charles fit right into Erik as though he had been made to lie next to him, and the thought triggered such feelings in him - he was dizzy from the realization that Charles was real, that he existed.

He was drowning in a tenderness he shouldn’t be feeling given that they had just met and had immediately tumbled into bed.

He was feeling like someone had folded hands around his heart, wrapping him in warmth and joy.

Someone who had ridiculously floppy brown hair and the most amazing blue eyes, someone with rough and scarred hands and a smile that looked like it could banish dark moods and grey clouds and despair.

Erik squeezed his eyes shut and kissed the back of Charles’s head. /We shall not talk of comparisons. That’s silliness./

/We should be talking about getting to know each other, but that seems a bit...superfluous, given the circumstances?/

///

Charles cuddled into Erik’s arms, relishing the lean muscle and gentle warmth wrapped around him, a tickle of his lips on the back of his head. The fuzzy beginnings of fatigue crept in, softened his features, but he willed himself to keep alert. He didn’t want to stop now; the talking, the touching, the best cuddles of his life. He could stay awake all night just to be held there, feeling the beat of Erik’s heart against his shoulder.

“I feel like I already know you.” Charles inwardly winced at the somewhat cheesy line, but it rang so true that there was simply no other way to describe it better. Charles shifted a little so the curve of his back pressed snug to Erik’s stomach. There was still so much to learn, and he had no idea where to start.

///

Erik looked into Charles’s eyes, smiling, and then it was easy to touch his forehead to Charles’s. To murmur to him, his lips deliberately brushing the other man’s skin: “And I you. But I want to show you how amazing you are. Will you give me time to do that? Will you give me a chance?”

///

For possibly the first time in his life, Charles Xavier was lost for words. He gulped past the lump in his throat, gazing bewildered at Erik through rapidly blinking eyes, “I... well, I – ” he stuttered, cheeks going pink. No one had ever said such beautiful words to him before.

A shy smile broke through, and he dipped his head, “Of course. If you will allow me the same honor, that is,” he added, with a gentle kiss to the hollow of Erik’s throat. He wanted to show Erik just how wonderful he was in return. How strong and passionate he was, a gentle heart under all that lean muscle. “We have all the time in the world to show each other.”  



End file.
